


None of It Seems to Matter Anymore

by kayura_sanada



Series: For Good [32]
Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: (canonical), Canonical Character Death, Dragon Age Quest: The Last Straw, Growth, Home, Hurt/Comfort, Life and Liberty, M/M, Minor Character Death, Personal Growth, Return Of the Sub-Plot, Side Romance: Isabela/Merrill, Understanding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-08
Updated: 2018-07-08
Packaged: 2019-06-07 06:25:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,660
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15213131
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kayura_sanada/pseuds/kayura_sanada
Summary: It all begins to end.





	None of It Seems to Matter Anymore

Fenris hurried to Azzan’s side as he stood before the last remnant of his old friend’s corpse. Orsino didn’t look anything like himself; he’d turned hideous, monstrous in his deformity. Azzan had been forced to kill him simply to keep the others in the room alive.

Fenris touched Azzan’s shoulder. “I don’t understand,” he said finally. “If he wished to escape or destroy the templars, why not just turn on them?”

“Because that’s not what he wanted,” Azzan said. Azzan held his staff before them. All around him, that aura spread, giving the feeling of peace in a room filled with blood and death. “He wanted to end it, but didn’t have the strength to do it on his own.” Fenris felt the trembling in Hawke’s arms. They hadn’t even begun their true battle, and already Azzan was weary. Of course he was. Fenris alone had put him through the wringer. For years. Then Anders, and then Sebastian. Now his grand enchanter friend, too. How many people were going to hurt Hawke today? “If he turned into an abomination, everything Meredith has been saying about us mages would seem real to everyone. If the Grand Enchanter himself chose to turn to a demon the moment things got tough…”

Hawke looked to him. He needn’t; Fenris knew that he’d be one of those all too ready to throw the blame on mages. He grimaced. Hawke smiled. “He needed someone to kill him, but he wasn’t willing to destroy every mage’s chance at freedom to achieve it. So he chose us.” Hawke hung his head. “Me.”

Fenris ran a hand through his hair. “But why choose death?” He scowled as his mind flashed back to a conversation he’d once had with Anders. The mage had asked if he’d truly never wished for death. He’d told the man that there had to be things worse than slavery. The mage had said that some things were worse than death. Had the grand enchanter thought the same? Had… Hawke? “Why not go down fighting?”

“And then what?” Azzan shook his head. “Orsino had always been able to look ahead. It was how he’d been able to keep Meredith in line as long as he had. But this time… this time, there will be war. If he survived this fight, there would only be another, and another. He didn’t want to face that. I told you before, Fenris. Many of us simply want to live our lives in peace. If we don’t think that peace is within our reach…”

Fenris looked away.

It was one less fighter for the upcoming battle. Fenris looked around. There were so few of them, and so may templars awaited outside. More, even, than they’d seen with Meredith when she’d promised to kill them all. Which of these people would not be leaving the Gallows? Which would never know this freedom they were about to battle for so arduously?

Having seen Hawke’s deepest pain, having known it was he who had put it there, had made him rethink everything he believed. He’d known for years that his hate had been taught to him, but never had he thought to eradicate it. He’d believed it a lesson hard learned. One those outside Tevinter had learned, as well. Looking at the scared, hurting faces around him – if it weren’t for the hoods over their heads, they would look much like those Hawke had helped throughout the years. Just another non-mage needing assistance. But these – these were mages. And they looked so desolate and alone.

Azzan took a deep breath and turned around. Just as he did, a mage ran into the room. “They’re attacking!” he shouted. Azzan headed immediately for the door. Fenris went, as well, softly touching Azzan so the man would allow him to go first.

They barely made it down the long hall before they found themselves embroiled in battle. Azzan’s aura, going non-stop since the moment Orsino had lost himself to his desolation, flared. Fenris raced out.

Azzan had already given them their assignments before heading out. The mage, Anders, had been tasked with providing healing from afar. It would come in handy if Azzan lost his ability mid-fight, but otherwise, Fenris wasn’t happy about it. He’d never trusted the mage, even less so now. It was foolish to ignore help when it was offered, however, especially at a time like this.

The others – Carver was put to the side with orders to hold the line for the other mages. Merrill was one of the mages, along with Anders, he would be guarding. Isabela would be using Hawke’s contingent as distraction to get her own attacks in. Meanwhile, Fenris, Varric, and Aveline would be with Hawke. Azzan had explained that, though it would likely be better for Aveline to be on the side, Hawke’s goal was to keep most of Meredith’s ire on himself. To keep that plan from going south the instant it began, Aveline had to stay with him.

With all of Hawke’s allies still together, they made short work of the templars who had advanced the farthest into the building. Two mages, however, had already lost their lives by the time they had arrived. He saw the pinched look on Hawke’s face. Orsino had said all mages in Kirkwall were apostates. That they would find no sympathy but, perhaps, in the other Circles of Thedas. The comforting bubble Fenris had shrouded himself in had popped; he could see now what such a thing would mean for Hawke.

Fenris’ flight across Thedas might have just ended, but Hawke’s had just begun. He’d run all his life, only to attempt to settle in Lothering. Then had come the Blight. After running from Lothering and setting up a new home, Hawke would now again have to run. And run. And run. And there would be no place to rest. Not in all of Thedas.

How much longer did Hawke have before he would be hunted down and killed?

They cleared the halls as they moved forward; those mages who had stood as lookout had all been felled. If they’d managed to survive through sending their messenger, they hadn’t survived long enough for their help to arrive.

Hawke took down every templar there with extreme prejudice.

With Fenris and Aveline leading the charge, no one got through to Azzan or Varric; both were able to attack and heal without interruption. Fenris could feel the steady pulse of Azzan’s aura, even as they battled templars. With these people as enemies, Fenris would have to work hard to keep them far enough away that Azzan’s healing could continue. That was his main concern. So long as Azzan could heal, they would be able to move forward.

They raced through the Circle, passing Sandal, untouched and surrounded by demons and templars alike, meeting templars who had fallen to a desire demon, a rage demon that trapped Hawke in its room with it – only for Hawke to emerge a few minutes later, his healing aura still steady as he returned. Every room was a new trap. The entire Circle had become chaos. No one, be they mage or templar, was exempt from the madness.

Their first major contingent of enemies wasn’t even as they stepped outside the building; templars streamed in through the main doors. Aveline and Fenris raced forward, but Fenris could already see their gazes turning behind him. Toward Hawke. They cut down only a few enemies before Hawke’s aura abruptly cut off.

“I’m fine!” Hawke shouted. Fenris grasped onto those words and forced himself to not falter. Sure enough, after a few moments of scrapes and bruises accumulating on his arms and side, Azzan’s aura returned. In no time, his injuries had disappeared. The templars’ did not.

After that, the many enemies left stood little chance against their assault. With himself and Aveline, no one else got through the door. With Varric, any remaining within got picked off. And with Azzan, they saw the end of the battle as they’d begun it, albeit with more blood staining their clothes. They hurried through the door they’d barred, only to feel the night wind whip against their cheeks. They’d made it to the outside.

At least symbolically, this was the true start of mage freedom.

The idea still itched. Fenris couldn’t just turn off years of hatred – _rightfully earned_ hatred. The very knowledge of what mages would so easily become made his actions grate. Hawke had not asked him to join, however. He’d even told Fenris to stay out of it. Even though they’d begun a relationship, Hawke had simply accepted that Fenris’ hatred of magic might come first, and they would be over, just like that.

He’d lost enough. His memories, his past. For a long time, his freedom, even his rights to his own body. Then, after it all, his family, and almost his second chance. Even if he wasn’t willing to listen to Azzan’s side of it all – and of course he was; Azzan never asked for _anything_ , how could he not try to listen when Azzan needed it so much? – just the idea of Azzan facing all of this would be enough to glue Fenris to the man’s side.

This front area had seen Hawke visiting quite a bit in the last few weeks; over and over again, Hawke had allowed himself to be called into this place in order to answer the demands of Orsino and Meredith alike. Now, for the first time, the one thing he and Azzan had always feared had happened: templars barred his path out. Azzan ground his teeth as he stepped in front of Fenris for a moment. He held his staff out and created a glyph just in front of the templars down below. The first wave of enemies froze in their tracks.

Fenris smirked as he headed down the stairs to confront them. Those in the back of the first wave of templars had to scoot around their brethren to reach them. By the time they did, Fenris was already there to meet them, and neither Hawke nor the others remained on the stairs, where they could easily lose their footing.

By the time the glyph finally dissipated, three of four were dead, and their coordinated assault was in disarray. It took little effort for the rest to be dealt with, as they all scrambled to get themselves in order.

Then it was time.

With no more templars barring their path, they left even the outer walls of the Circle, until they stood before Meredith and the remainders of her army. Every templar stood with their weapons out, a wall between Hawke and freedom. Again, Hawke took his place before the rest of them, though Fenris insisted on standing only just behind. Hawke stood now as the mages’ defender, and their leader. Shouldering the burden of Kirkwall once again. But this time, the entire world would hear him.

“And here we are, Champion,” Meredith said as Azzan approached. Her head dipped. Something in her seemed almost to bubble, even froth, at the sight of Hawke before her. “At long last.”

Fenris bristled. She’d practically admitted to wanting Hawke dead for some time. Despite everything he’d done for this city and its people. Perhaps Hawke didn’t catch the full meaning – no. Perhaps, in the wake of this day, he simply didn’t care. Either way, Hawke stepped forward and lifted his chin. “You’ll pay for what you’ve done here.”

She grinned. “I will be _rewarded_ for what I’ve done here. In this world and the next.”

Fenris’ gut churned. He could not speak for the afterlife, but here – yes. She would be rewarded, if she won here today. Fenris looked at Hawke. The thinned lips and narrowed eyes said Hawke knew the same.

“I have done nothing but perform my duty,” Meredith continued. “What happens to you now is your own doing.”

Fenris tightened his grip on his sword.

“You were never part of the Circle. And I tolerated that.” Only because she hadn’t been able to ensure her continued reign in Kirkwall should she go after the nobles’ champion. “But in defending them, you’ve chosen to share their fate.”

Azzan tensed. Fenris could feel it – the bloodlust. The woman was finally getting what she wanted.

“Knight Commander.”

Fenris, being so close, was likely the only one to hear Azzan’s quiet inhale. Knight Captain Cullen stepped forward, moving oddly beside Meredith – facing her instead of facing Hawke. Dismissing Hawke as a threat. Something odd beat along the small space between them all. Something like relief. It came from Azzan.

For the first time in all this, a friend beyond their crew – and their crew themselves were not blameless – had chosen to side with Azzan instead of against.

“I thought,” Cullen said, “we intended to _arrest_ the champion.” The emphasis was strong. Deliberate. Azzan winced; perhaps the relief had come too soon. But still, it was better than thinking an old friend was willing to kill him.

Meredith glared at Cullen. “You will do as I command, Cullen.”

“No.” The templars all looked at one another. Many lowered their weapons as they looked upon their leaders. Cullen’s shoulders, so straight and unwavering, were tense. The man pulled in a shaky breath. “I defended you when Thrask started whispering you were mad. But this is too far.”

This? Fenris shot a quick glance to Azzan. This, this one order, to kill Azzan, was too far? It seemed as if Fenris was not the only one to see who Hawke truly was.

“I will not allow insubordination!” The woman pulled out her sword. It… glowed. It _glowed_. Not unlike Fenris’ markings, the sword breathed magic. But it was _red_. Red, and sparking, and pointed, now, at Cullen’s head. Cullen held up his hands in surrender. “We must stay true to our path!”

“Andraste’s dimpled butt cheeks,” Varric breathed.

Meredith turned to Varric with a smirk. “You recognize it, do you not?” She twirled her sword around, caressing the blade until it gleamed. Like blood. “Pure lyrium. Taken from the Deep Roads.” Her lips curled. Her eyes glowed. “The dwarf charged a great deal for his prize.”

Azzan shook his head. “The idol poisoned Bartrand’s mind in the end.” Fenris tensed; to anyone watching, it was already clear it had done the same to her.

“He was weak.” She glared up into Hawke’s eyes. The glow of the sword reflected in her gaze until her irises looked like blood. “Where as I am not.”

The lyrium in her sword hummed like insects. Fenris could hear it, preying upon the back of his mind. He stiffened.

Meredith turned to her men, then to Hawke. She pointed the sword at Hawke’s throat. “All of you! I want him dead!”

Fenris held out his own sword. She was too close. It would be difficult to get in-between her and Hawke in time. His heart raced to his throat. Not to mention the other templars.

“Enough!” Cullen said, slicing through the air with his hand. “This is not what the order stands for. Knight Commander, step down.” Cullen stepped forward. “I relieve you of your command.”

Azzan’s brows shot up. So, too, did Meredith’s. “My own knight captain,” she breathed, “falls prey to the influence of blood magic.” She stared at her knights. “You all have. You’re all weak.” She pointed her sword at one, then the other. Her men backed up, their armors clanking as they banged against one another. “Allowing the mages to control your minds, to turn you against me.” Then, like a whip, she turned back to Azzan, her sword glimmering as it once again pointed at Azzan’s neck. He stood unflinching, even as Fenris’ heart leaped into his throat. “But I don’t need any of you. I will protect this city myself.”

Azzan’s eyes narrowed. Fenris and Azzan both caught movement out of the corners of their eyes; Fenris turned to see Cullen raise his own sword. “You’ll have to go through me.”

“Idiot boy,” she hissed. “Just like all the others.”

“She’s lost it,” Varric said. “Just like Bartrand.” Fenris’ ear flickered in his direction, but he didn’t respond. He was too busy waiting for Meredith to attack.

Meredith’s men abandoned their posts around her. Cullen stood before them, helping their retreat. Azzan stepped in between them and Meredith, as well. Fenris’ breath stilled. He hurried to Azzan’s side. Thank everything, but he allowed Fenris his place before him.

Yet, instead of trying to cleave Azzan’s head from his shoulders, Meredith twisted the monstrous sword until it pointed toward the ground. With a single, short thrust, the sword cracked through the stones of the Gallows. Red lyrium poured like erupting lava from the point of contact. As if the world itself was bleeding. “Blessed are those who stand before the corrupt and the wicked and do not falter.”

Fenris chanced a glance at Azzan as the woman spoke a line from the mage’s own Chant. Azzan lifted his chin high. Without making a sound, the man’s lips moved to recite the very same line. “Blessed are the peacekeepers,” Azzan whispered, continuing when Meredith did not. His aura flowed out, covering Fenris and, undoubtedly, every last one of their allies. Cullen’s eyes widened. The man stared at Azzan. “Champions of the just.”

Meredith wrenched her sword out from the ground. All around them, the sky blackened. The streets themselves seemed to shiver. The Gallows came to life with horrible roars. The very stones seemed to scream.

Fenris planted himself before Azzan just as the woman raised her sword and – he barely breathed before she was beside him. Cullen, on a choked cry, flew back, blood spurting from a wound in his chest. Fenris turned, eyes wide. He hadn’t seen her move, let alone strike. Yet her blade, when she retracted her arm, was wet with the knight captain’s blood. Meredith turned her gaze on Azzan. Her eyes glowed with the power of the idol. “Champion,” the woman spat.

“Hawke, get back!” Fenris raced at her, demanding her attention – forcing her to look away from Azzan, to leave him to gain distance. Fenris heard the soft steps of Azzan’s retreat as the woman faced him head-on. Aveline ran to his side. Fenris sliced at Meredith’s skin. The woman didn’t so much as flinch. Her blood, when it spurted, tinged a horrible pink.

The woman lashed out, forcing Fenris back. Aveline hid behind her shield. The short instant Fenris was vulnerable, Meredith made to strike – only to catch three arrows in her chest. Still, the hits did little more than wind her, just long enough for Fenris to take his place once more.

The woman swung her sword. Just once, one swing, and something immeasurable pushed him back. The wind itself seemed to cut him. He grunted, taking the worst of the force with his blade, and skittered back. Aveline did the same, yet countless more voices rose in sudden shock and pain. Without looking, Fenris knew what Azzan’s response would be. Sure enough, he felt the aura within him grow, the spring wind growing almost cold as it grew into a small maelstrom. He backed away, leaving Aveline alone against Meredith long enough to check on Hawke. He barely turned his head before his spot was taken by Knight Captain Cullen.

The man was still alive?

But of course he was. Azzan’s magic curled, visible to all and sundry, beautiful blue-white as it stretched around his form, his eyes half-lidded as he concentrated on healing countless peoples’ injuries. Already the shouts and screams were dying away. Fenris looked around to assess the damage, only to gasp.

Again, Meredith moved, faster than Fenris could follow – but he’d seen where her gaze had turned, and he moved to intercept – if he was her, he knew where he would attack. He met her sword with his own just as she thrust it toward Azzan. Azzan hissed and stumbled back. Blood spurted from his arm, splashed over the edges of Meredith’s blade. Fenris planted his feet and shoved, a scream bubbling up his throat, his muscles each straining to their limits. He pushed Meredith’s sword away and stepped into her space. Meredith fell to one knee.

“Maker! Your servant begs for the strength to defeat this evil!”

Something thick and black rose around the woman, as if darkness itself embraced her. She jumped. Jumped, and yet she almost seemed to fly; she backflipped several feet in the air, too high for Fenris to reach her even if he stood on the knight captain’s back. She landed atop the small butte between the steps leading up to the Circle, just past the tiny iron gate that would have normally housed a templar as he stood watch. Pinkish-red lightning sparked around her body, passing between wisps of black smoke as if through stormclouds. Once again, the woman thrust her sword down into the ground, this time screaming with a sound not quite human. The world around them bloomed red.

All around them, people screamed. Those who were supposed to be helping on the outskirts suddenly found themselves embroiled in their own battles as the golden statues around them moved. Templars and mages alike were now battling against the statues of the gallows. The two-headed, four-armed guardians that looked upon all who entered the gallows stood upright, spears in hand. The images of slaves suddenly pounded at the ground, obedient to their lyrium-addled master. Shockwaves tore across the gallows like miniature earthquakes.

The entire gallows was alive. And every statue in it was under Meredith’s command.

They’d thought they might die to the army of templars. They’d never thought to be killed by such abominations.

He turned back to Meredith, his mind once more replaying a line of the mage’s. _So we agree that it doesn’t take a demon for someone to be a vicious killer? Good._

“Carver! The right!” Azzan called. “Cullen! Left!” Fenris dared another glance Azzan’s way, only to find the mage staring wide-eyed at the statues before them. His teeth were bared. “Fenris, Aveline! On her!”

Their gazes met, just for an instant. In those ocean eyes Fenris saw a stillness. That aura still broke warm sunlight over his soul, even as its wind whirled over his body, reviving his muscles from the stress of pushing Meredith back.

He was fine. They were all still fine. Azzan had no intention of losing.

The two-headed statue moved slowly, yet every step rumbled beneath their feet, testing their footing. Meredith stood back, her gaze unholily bright. Fenris barely managed to stand before Hawke as the thing bent down, its massive form taking up the entirety of the area, its huge hands breaking apart its own spear and placing them on the ground. Fenris recognized what it meant moments too late.

“Get back!” Azzan said, but it was too late. He, Aveline, Varric – even Azzan himself – all found themselves trapped within the circle of the statue’s range, the metal spear and its handle sweeping across the ground as the statue’s torso spun on its legs in a full circle. They all got flung in separate directions. Fenris struggled to stand. No doubt Meredith would use this chance to take out Azzan. He was the one she truly wanted, and the one capable of keeping them all going.

Yet, even as he thought that, he felt, above Azzan’s aura, another’s magic sweep across him. He gritted his teeth and stood, his gaze sweeping out until he found Anders. The man stood by Merrill. He looked a bit unsteady as she tore her own blood out to battle against the statues. Anders cocked his head at Fenris before turning away again. The mage had healed him. He turned to Azzan, still picking himself up from the attack. Hawke’s magic still pulsed within Fenris’ skin, but it was a limited resource. He wouldn’t fight Anders for helping. Not if it helped Azzan.

But when this was all over, the mage had better run.

The statue stood again. Everyone returned to it, though Fenris couldn’t say if it was in any way feeling the small dents their weapons made in its body. Azzan, on the other hand, snarled lowly and said, “there!” With small bursts of his magic, the man cracked the statue’s back. Fenris reared up between blows to scratch along the crack’s surface. Pieces of metal flecked apart as the blade crunched into the weakened metal. Hawke took the chance to back away further.

Fenris wasn’t the only one to find the crack Hawke had created. In no time, Varric’s arrows and Merrill’s magic pelted the fissure until it spanned the entirety of the statue’s back and slipped around its torso. Still, the thing never paused in its own assault. It slammed its spear into the ground over and over again, sweeping wide. It always just barely missed Fenris.

The third time it moved, Fenris saw a gust of wind cut across the air. He heard a grunt and turned, his eyes wide. The statue had been aiming for Hawke the whole time. “Hawke!”

“I’m fine,” Azzan said. The man placed his staff before him. His armor was covered in dried blood from the many battles that had led them to here. His face and arms carried much fresher blood, so new it sparkled in the light of Meredith’s lyrium. Still, Azzan’s wounds quickly closed.

Fenris saw the man pant slightly before he pulled his staff back to his side.

This was too much. There were too many people who needed to be protected. Too many people Hawke had _chosen_ to protect. Fenris gritted his teeth. If this continued, Hawke would run out of mana.

He glared at the statue. This was taking too long.

He breathed deeply, letting Aveline take the statue’s aggression as he called upon his own lyrium. Seeing Meredith and this monstrosity before him, the hatred he held for his own lyrium mixed with a certain fear. But his was blue, unlike the impure idol, and this was not the time to care.

With the lyrium lighting a fire beneath his skin and Azzan’s aura cooling those same flames, Fenris leaped. Power coursed through him. He swung across, aiming directly for that broken line. His sword dug in. The metal squealed. For an instant, his sword nearly stopped, half-embedded in the statue’s back. He roared. Using the sword as a handhold, he swung his body until he could plant his feet upon the statue’s back.

“Fenris!” Hawke. He could feel the statue move beneath his feet. It had four arms – more than enough for it to switch the spear around to stab him. He snarled and _shoved_. His sword scraped through the metal.

A bolt of magic slammed into the metal just by Fenris’ shoulder, splitting the crack wider, and suddenly his sword was moving. Fenris adjusted his feet and used the momentum to swing his sword straight through. The statue near cleaved in twain. The same momentum helped him launch himself back, landing on the ground once more. The statue lurched once, attempted to raise its spear, and fell. It did not rise again.

“Andraste’s jiggling tits, you’re mad!” Varric shouted, and laughed.

Meredith stabbed Fenris in the side before he could respond.

He folded into himself, his body moving more with the force of Meredith’s stab than with any of his own volition. He could feel the sword dive past his skin and sink into his gut, scraping shortly along the bottom of his rib. For one short, tiny instant, he could feel nothing. And then – then he felt pain.

“ _Fenris!”_

Azzan. Of course the man’s first thought would always be on him and not the battle. He felt his body hit the ground. It was no easy landing. He bounced, probably. Certainly, there was blood. Almost, he expected a finishing blow. Instead, he heard the clang of metal. Aveline?

“Fenris!” The pounding of footsteps, and then fingers touched his cheek. He sighed. Azzan.

The man’s aura surrounded him, inside and out. Even as he felt cold reach its icy tendrils into his stomach and chest, Azzan’s warmth battled it back. He opened his eyes to see Azzan suffused in gold. The man’s lips moved, the pulse of the air limning him as he prayed. He rolled his eyes. “I’m fine,” he said. “Get back.”

He found his head cradled in Azzan’s lap. The madness around them seemed almost ordered, suddenly – on every side, the statues were engaged by mage and templar both, each team keeping the creatures surrounded. Hawke’s friends kept to the plan – Isabela flickered back and forth in his eyesight, reaching in close to where the sounds of battle raged, only to flit back once more. For an instant, he even saw the woman laughing; a familiar elven face grinned by her side, the man’s bright teeth a foil to the dark lines of the tattoo along his temple and cheek.

Fenris pushed himself back up. He searched for a moment, then grabbed his sword from the ground. “I’m fine,” he said again.

Azzan nodded. Still, when Fenris moved back, Hawke did not stand up. Fenris looked back at him. “What’s…” He stopped. For an instant, he thought the blood on that armor might have been Azzan’s; it covered him from chest to knee, soaked the fur sewn along the collar. But it was his own. His own, yet he didn’t feel the slightest bit dizzy. Azzan, on the other hand, remained limned in that bright golden aura – the warning that said he was using too much of his mana, too much of his strength. He saw Azzan’s hands shake.

He opened his mouth to order Azzan to stop. Stop healing. Stop worrying about them. His mouth snapped closed an instant later, only for him to snap, “Mana potions?”

“Out,” Azzan said. He sounded unconcerned.

Fenris turned back to the battle. Aveline stood just before him, her shield out, keeping Meredith from reaching them. The woman’s feet scraped slightly backward with every blow against her shield, yet she kept Meredith’s quick movements constrained enough to keep him and Azzan safe. For now. He searched desperately around the gallows, only to give up when he realized the statues hid too much from view. “Mage!”

Several mages inevitably turned to look at him, but only one responded. “I have a name, you know!”

There. He turned to the sound of Anders’ agitation. “Get over here!” he said, and turned to Azzan. “Just use your aura,” he said. His hands gripped his sword so tight the clawed metal of his gauntlets scraped against the bottom of his palms. “Don’t heal until you get another potion!”

Azzan just looked at him. No promise made. He sucked in a breath.

Right. Azzan would never let someone die if he had the power to save them.

He snarled as he turned back to Meredith. She was the key. All of those statues were controlled by her. If she fell, they would fall, and no one else would be hurt. Azzan would be safe.

Meredith was in the way.

He got back to his feet. Aveline still stood, an immovable rock in the middle of the battlefield. Around her, everyone else moved. The world shook – a statue had fallen. From its rubble came those who had fought against it. Just before them, Anders came running, likely having seen Azzan sitting on the ground in the middle of the fight.

Fenris moved his sword to one hand. “Aveline,” he growled. “Back me up.”

She sent a glance over her shoulder, then nodded. His hand glowed. “Go.”

He ran.

Meredith moved faster than he could track, even after so much training and with the woman’s abominable magic under so much strain. She called her metal minions closer, pooling their strength together as yet another statue fell. It made his progress falter once, then twice; he needed to stop in his tracks and alter his route lest he ram head-first into one of the statues’ legs or through the mages’ fire. At all times, his hand glowed with its own unholy light, a bright blue not unlike the color of Azzan’s aura. He used its power to plunge his hand into the leg of one of the statues, breaking it to pieces. Carver fell upon it with a roar, carving a path through for Fenris. He took it with a grunt of thanks.

He could feel Azzan’s aura, still, but it felt different. Hot, almost scalding. He moved faster. One of the slave statues reached down to grab him. The elven assassin was the one to push it back, his daggers stabbing into the statue’s palm. “Hurry up, then!”

“What…?” He shook his head.

“And miss the chance to ogle your dear champion, all angry and sweaty?” The man chuckled. “Not a chance.”

Fenris snarled. He would kill the man later.

Meredith. Her sword was made for thrusts and jabs, despite its length and width. One of her fellow templars shielded Varric, only to fall to her next lunge. Golden light wisped around the man’s frame even as he fell. Fenris gritted his teeth. _Hawke_.

The man was a _templar._ After this battle, he would simply become an enemy. What was Azzan thinking?

“ _There’s going to be enough death. No matter what. No more.”_

Fenris had fallen in love with an _idiot_.

Meredith pulled her sword back, her elbow facing out, toward Fenris, in preparation for another strike. He dropped his sword. “Crazy!” Varric shouted, seeing him, and launched an arrow at Meredith in distraction. Meredith deflected the arrow with just the tilt of her weapon. The movement made her turn slightly to Fenris. Her eyes widened. She lifted her sword.

Azzan’s aura burst into liquid gold inside of him. He felt the hot air rush through him. He felt freer in his body, as if the world was lighter around him. Azzan’s hastening ability.

Suddenly, Meredith’s swing wasn’t so fast. He could see the shift of her feet as she maintained her balance. That single shift, and he knew exactly what she was going to do. He ducked low as she swung her sword, trying to catch him with the blunt face. She sucked in a sharp breath as he planted one foot inside her space and reared back up, his fingers curled into claws. His hand slammed into the side of her chest. His fingers passed bone, each rib like hard water against his skin, and through her lung, expanding on her gasp. He gripped her heart.

Despite who she was, her heart was big and strong and steady, just like Azzan’s. As his grip grew tight, the lyrium glowing brighter and brighter as he called upon it, battling against the unnatural red swarming around her, that heartbeat of hers sped up. She stared wide-eyed down at him. He snarled at her. “You should have left him alone.” He crushed down. Even as he did, her entire body glowed red. Something pulled him in; on instinct, he suffused himself with his lyrium – just in time to be blasted back. Something like a shockwave burst throughout the gallows. He landed on his back and rolled. Everyone, everything, did the same. The statues, however, no longer moved. He looked for Meredith and found her standing upright, body cracked apart by the lyrium within her. Azzan hurried up to her, his golden glow battling back Meredith’s lyrium. Protecting them. “Azzan!”

“I will not be defeated!” Meredith screeched. Her voice sounded as metallic as the statues she’d brought to life. With a single hand, she held up her sword as Azzan advanced. “Maker!” She held the sword before her, her second hand gripping it tight. Azzan ran to her, his aura a crackling ball of sunlight, almost too bright to behold. “Heed your humble servant!”

Azzan threw his hands forward. His mouth opened. Fenris thought – thought perhaps Azzan should be shouting, but the red raged too brightly, and then – and then the sword in Meredith’s hands shattered. Pieces shot against the orb of Azzan’s magic, pounding like burst starlight against its walls. Meredith screamed as bits of her sword embedded themselves into her flesh. The lines of lyrium in her body grew, splintered. Broke. Her eyes bled red light. Her mouth opened, as well, abnormally so, as if unhinged. Beneath her armor, her body bubbled.

She fell to her knees, limbs twisting around and out, in configurations impossible for a normal body. Red shot through the cracks in her armor like bubbling soap, quickly cooling into crystal wherever it touched air. Her scream abruptly died off, even as she continued to writhe. The red bubbled out of her mouth, her eyes. It dripped down her chin.

Finally, horribly, she was still.

The bright gold of Hawke’s magic flickered. Fenris forced himself up. His sword had been pushed along the ground, so far away that it sat against the pillars on the edge of the gallows. He snatched it up before running to Azzan. The man’s shoulders heaved. His magic still flashed before them, nearly blinding Fenris. He put his hand on Azzan’s shoulder. “Hawke,” he said, his voice quiet. “It’s safe now.”

Fenris saw a white flash of teeth as Azzan grimaced. Still, he nodded. “Right.”

The golden barrier finally died down. Suddenly Azzan was leaning against him, nearly boneless as he let his magic go. Fenris caught him, wrapped his arms around the man. Before them, where Meredith had stood, there was nothing but a carmine crystal, bent in horrid supplication to its Maker. A Maker who had denied its call.

Good.

Azzan struggled to stand. Fenris could feel the way the man’s legs buckled; his rasping gasps beat against Fenris’ collarbone. Still. Fenris looked around. Countless templars still stood. Of everyone who had entered this courtyard, only two people did not stand. Hawke had kept them all alive, save one whose head was cleaved and another whose body looked to have been stepped on by one of the statues.

He grimaced. The templars all turned to them. Armor clanking, the humans ran out to surround them. Azzan hissed. Fenris was forced to let him go to take his place before Azzan. He held out his sword. Aveline came up from behind, rousing a quick call to their friends. Varric scuttled in beside Azzan, doing his best to hold the mage up until Anders moved in and grabbed Hawke’s shoulder. “No,” Azzan whispered. Carefully, Azzan pulled himself away from Anders and stood on his own.

One of the female knights ran up to the statue of Meredith. Almost, the fool touched the crystal, only to realize what she was doing at the last second. The knight turned to Cullen. Cullen, who stood amongst his men, his sword out to deal Hawke a finishing blow. Fenris growled at him, but the man’s gaze was already turning to stare behind Fenris. To Azzan.

Something must have passed between them. Whatever it was, it made Cullen take a single step back. He lowered his sword.

Slowly, the rest of the knights did the same.

Fenris looked around him one last time, fully prepared for one of them to attack the moment their guards went down. Azzan touched his shoulder. With a sigh, he pulled back, as well, finally sheathing his sword. The knight who’d gone to check on Meredith had yet to move.

They left, finally, Azzan taking up the rear, herding his friends and all the mages away from the gallows first. The many boats that lined the gallows’ dock had been made for the templars, but it was the mages who took them. One after the other, quickly, nearly stumbling in their attempts to leave. Azzan watched over them, and so Fenris stayed behind, as well, to watch over _him_. Azzan did nothing more than look at him. He didn’t bother asking Fenris to go. He had learned better.

The first boat to leave was the one filled to the brim with mages. The second and third, like the first. The templars still stood in a half-circle, ready to attack. It made Fenris’ skin itch.

It felt like hours before they were able to head out, as well. Their friends waited for them on one of the two remaining boats. Anders sat in the other, with the few mages who had chosen to remain, ensuring Azzan’s safety. With them was the assassin Zevran and even Alain, who watched Azzan with wide eyes. Something frissoned up Fenris’ spine at the sight of the man.

“Fenris.”

Azzan’s voice was quiet. It was the first time he’d said anything since the end of the battle. Azzan didn’t look at him, even now; he kept his gaze on the templars, just as ready for them to strike as Fenris. Both of them moved to the boat as one. It reminded Fenris of the last time he’d escorted a mage to a ship for evacuation. This time, however, Azzan refused to get on before he did. Even then, the idiot took a defensive posture in front of Fenris before sliding into the last space on the boat. Quickly, Isabela pulled on the mast. “Let’s get moving,” she said, her voice somewhere between guarded and chipper. The boat beside them began to move; Fenris watched as Azzan stared at Anders. It was a painful farewell for Azzan, though a hearty one for Fenris. Truly, the abomination should be glad he was leaving with his life. That was thanks to Azzan.

Every single person leaving the docks owed him their lives.

As soon as they were truly on their way across the water, Azzan slid down to rest his head on Fenris’ shoulder. His breathing evened out so quickly Fenris turned his head to check on the man. His eyes were still open, though lidded, his gaze staring emptily across the sea. “You did it,” he said. Azzan leaned back to take in Fenris’ face. The man looked like that tiny effort took up everything he had. “You saved them. All of them, Hawke.” He swept the man’s hair back from his face. As usual, it had fallen out from his hairtie in a mangled mess. “For better or worse, these mages are free.”

Azzan sighed. His head drooped back down. “For how long?” he asked.

Fenris looked away, toward their friends. Isabela worked the riggings while Merrill sat beside her, eyes wide and staff out. The elven woman looked unnaturally pale. She leaned on her staff for support. Varric stood watch still, his gaze narrowed as he looked back toward the gallows. The others barely seemed able to do more than try to rest. “I dunno, Hawke,” the dwarf said. Azzan slid his gaze over to his dearest friend. “Things may have just gotten started for mages. But don’t think this isn’t a win. This could have been a rebellion, snuffed out before it became anything. Thanks to you, it’s a revolution.”

Fenris shivered. Azzan had to have felt it, but he didn’t say anything to him. Instead, he spoke to Varric, his voice still quiet, as if he couldn’t muster up the energy for more. “Maybe…” Hawke struggled to sit up. With a sigh, Fenris reached up and touched Azzan’s back. That light touch, and Azzan settled again. “They’ll be chased. Cullen may have let us go, but templars from other nations won’t. They’ll be after us. And because all of you helped, they’ll be after you, too.”

Varric smirked. “Guess that means I finally get a holiday, right?”

Isabela snorted. “As if you work so hard.”

“I do. It’s exhausting, avoiding all the people I don’t want to meet.” He leaned his elbows on his knees and looked Azzan in the eye. “I don’t mind heading out for a spell, Hawke. And you shouldn’t, either. It’s about time the world stopped depending on you.”

Azzan’s lips thinned. “They’re going to hunt for us. Maybe I can get their attention on me…” Isabela sighed. Varric sighed. Fenris sighed. Azzan looked around at them all. “What?”

“Start thinking about yourself,” Fenris said. Isabela nodded. “You told me this was your home. Templars are forcing you to abandon it – something you’ve told me you’ve had to do all your life. We may need to leave for a short time, but we will do so to keep _you_ safe. There is no ‘for their sakes.’ There is only for _your_ sake. And when it is time, we will return.”

Azzan’s mouth moved, silently shaping Fenris’ _we_. He grinned. “All right.”

Azzan relaxed against Fenris again, and this time, their voyage across the waters was peaceful. The other boats slipped ahead of them, worked by several hands instead of only a few. But none of them seemed to be in a hurry; in fact, the closer they got to shore, the slower Isabela went. More often than not, Fenris looked over to see her deep in conversation with Merrill, both of their faces far more somber than what one would imagine normal for two people just realizing their affections for each other.

“It’s going to end,” Azzan murmured. Fenris looked down at him. Despite being of greater height and larger frame, Azzan fit snugly against the crook of Fenris’ shoulder. His hair, wild from the battle and the man’s position against Fenris, bathed his shoulder in shadow. His gaze stretched out away from him, toward their friends, or perhaps even further.

Fenris shifted until his head rested on Azzan’s. “Isabela and Merrill?” he asked, knowing it was more than that.

“No. They won’t,” Azzan said, certain. “Isabela’s home may be the sea, and Merrill’s the forest, but they’ll find their ways back to each other.” The thought warmed him. He wondered if Hawke thought of them the same way – two hearts orbiting the same space, no matter any physical distance. He wanted that. “No. I mean… everything. Not just us having to leave.” Hawke looked around. Fenris did the same. Isabela and Merrill were still wrapped up in each other; Aveline stared ahead, toward the shore, as if her gaze alone could make them arrive faster. Carver looked to be getting an impromptu nap. Varric was the only one who seemed to have time on his hands – time enough to look at them, chuckle, and look innocently away when Fenris glared at him.

Everyone’s lives were going to change, whether they liked it or not. Fenris knew what Azzan meant, as well. Once Azzan left Kirkwall… well, even if Fenris hadn’t intended to go with Azzan, he would have eventually left. Why stay in Kirkwall without him? He didn’t have a home there; he merely existed in a building within the city’s walls, spending his days waiting for… for nothing, now. Yes. He would have left, even without staying with Hawke.

Merrill would be the same. What had she to remain for, now that her insane purpose had failed? And Isabela – he held no illusions as to why she’d returned. She’d missed her friends. She’d missed Hawke. When her friends left, so would she. Anders was now on the run, Sebastian going to bring his army in a show of hypocrisy matching the idea of Anders’ ‘justice.’ Varric might stay, and Aveline, but they would be the only ones. Kirkwall, for them, would never be the same.

Let alone the damage done, he thought, looking around at the shore as they neared Kirkwall’s docks. Bodies littered the ground, painting the stonework red. The buildings still blazed from the many fires both mages and templars had caused. It would take years to rebuild this city. And when it was rebuilt, where would the Champion of Kirkwall fit in? No longer just the hero who stopped the Qunari, but also the traitor who protected the mages.

Hawke wouldn’t be safe here. This place could no longer afford to be Hawke’s home.

And even if it could be, it wouldn’t be. Hawke was not the kind of person who was meant to be alone.

Fenris turned his head slightly, until his lips rested on the top of Hawke’s head. Hawke was about to go on the run. If anything could be more lonely, Fenris didn’t know it. Even with Fenris by his side, would Hawke be able to stand that kind of aloneness?

They reached the shore, finally, and just as Hawke had feared, the feeling in the air changed to one of parting. The other boats had reached the shore before them, and more than a few mages had waited for Hawke to arrive. Seeing them, Azzan forced himself to stand tall once more. Fenris stood just behind him, a silent wall of support.

The mages cheered as Hawke stepped off the boat. His friends disembarked moments after, gathering around him as he stepped forward. Several mages moved to shake his hand, clap his shoulder. Alain stood grinning from ear to ear. Anders stepped forward, and the two shared a hug. “Congratulations, Anders,” Azzan said, barely loud enough for even Fenris to hear.

“It’s thanks to you, too.” Anders stepped back and smiled at Azzan. “You’re the hero today.”

Azzan nodded. Fenris couldn’t be sure, but he didn’t think Azzan shared Anders’ grin. He hoped not. “You won’t be remembered the same. The people you’ve killed…”

“Necessary,” Anders said.

“Maybe. But that doesn’t mean it was right.” Azzan let go of his friend. “As much as your plan worked, it also failed. People are still going to hate us. And you committed murder. If you believe in justice, then you can’t consider yourself exempt.”

Anders’ smile dimmed. He stepped back. “But you aren’t going to arrest me, are you?” Silence. Anders chuckled. It sounded hollow. “Of course not. Because you know what they’d do to me. So you’re going to let me go, even though you know they’ll hunt me down for the rest of my life.”

Still nothing. Only now, Azzan looked down as if in shame.

Fenris reached up and touched Azzan’s back. “Be grateful, demon,” he said, glaring at Anders. “Anyone else would have your head. The only thing staying my blade is the man you’re condemning this instant.”

“The same goes for mine,” Aveline said, teeth gritted.

Anders looked at them both. There was a hatred in Anders for Fenris that, for the longest time, Fenris hadn’t understood. He thought he saw it now, as Anders took in his touch upon Azzan’s back. Envy. That shiver returned, shooting up his spine like an arrow. Anders felt something for Azzan beyond friendship. The thought made him hiss like a snake. He’d known there was affection there. He hadn’t known how deep it ran.

Anders turned to Azzan one last time, but Azzan did not meet his gaze. Anders nodded, huffing softly. “Of course.”

Anders turned away. He paused for a moment when Azzan sucked in a sharp breath. “Be… careful.”

The mage dared scoff. “Right.”

Fenris’ grip firmed; he raised his hand to Hawke’s shoulder, shaking him slightly. “You have done more than friendship asks,” he said, willing Hawke to _hear_ him. “You do not owe him your honor, or your happiness.”

“You said it yourself, Hawke,” Varric said, his voice quiet. “He killed people. _Innocent_ people. Giving him a head start is kinder than anything most would have given.”

Azzan nodded. Fenris squeezed once, until Azzan caught his gaze. He didn’t know what he could give; his words here had to seem shallow, with his own opinion of Anders so clear. Still, Azzan’s shoulders slumped slightly, as if some tension had drained away. Azzan reached up and covered Fenris’ gauntleted hand with his own. “All right.” He took a deep breath, deep enough for Fenris to feel it against his palm. “Everyone. If you have family, loved ones, grab them and run. Take a land route into the mountains, through the Bone Pit. I own the place, but most people are afraid of it. The danger there has passed, but is still raw enough to keep most creatures away.” He looked to Fenris, his gaze agonized. “Orana.”

Realization hit him. Orana still couldn’t even leave the house. They couldn’t expect her to go on the run with them, either; they would see battle, and though Orana was likely far too used to it, she had no experience on the battlefield, and Hawke would never accept previous trauma as an excuse to force her along. But to leave her alone?

“I’ll take care of her, Hawke,” Varric said.

“As will I,” Aveline promised. She stepped up to Azzan’s side. “I must check on my men, but I’ll ensure you and yours get out of here. After that, however,” she said, “I must do my job. Anders is a criminal.”

Azzan nodded. Fenris could already see the man’s mind shutting down. Too much had happened. Fenris understood that numbness all too well.

“Everyone,” Azzan said, then paused. Every mage watched him as if every breath he breathed was divine. “Stay with at least one or two others. Focus on getting yourselves out of here as quickly as possible, before the templars can return and find out which way you’re heading.”

“What about you?” Alain asked.

Azzan shook his head. “I won’t go with you.” Murmurs broke out immediately. Above the cries, Azzan spoke. “If I go with you, they’ll only chase us all down. I’ll head out toward the west, along the shore. No matter which direction you ultimately head, stay in the mountains.” Azzan turned to Aveline. “Will you hunt them down, as well?”

Aveline shook her head, her lips thin. “I imagine my guards and I will be a bit busy here, actually.”

That settled, Azzan dispersed his mages and headed to his home. Fenris went with him, noting quickly how Isabela returned to the boat, Merrill moving slowly behind her. From the slow way they moved to the way they refused to meet each others’ gazes, Fenris could guess how the conversation between the two would end. He grimaced. Almost, he and Hawke had met such an end. Almost, they’d allowed themselves to be pulled apart. Quickly, he went to them. “Isabela.”

She looked up, blinking rapidly. “Oh! Fenris. Need something?”

No flirting, no suggestiveness. He looked between them. How could he, who had missed so much in his own relationship with Azzan, hope to help breach whatever distance was growing between them? What could he say, after what he’d done to his own lover? “It’s not worth it,” he said finally. “Whatever you’re fighting about, or doubting. It’s not worth it.”

Isabela lifted a brow. Merrill, however, smiled. “I know,” she said. Something in her bright eyes said she did. Perhaps better than he. “Thank you, Fenris.”

He didn’t think he’d helped, but he had someone else he needed to be with. He turned away from them. Perhaps they would find their way. Perhaps they wouldn’t. Like with himself and Azzan, they would have to figure that out for themselves.

He returned to Azzan’s side. His lover smiled down at him, those deep blue eyes shining with pride. Fenris heart fluttered. He looked away and scowled. “I couldn’t say anything,” he said.

“I know,” he said, with the tone of voice that said he’d found himself at the same loss. “But you let them know you were rooting for them. That means a lot, I’m sure.”

Fenris wondered about that. Isabela had certainly let him know that she was rooting for him and Hawke, and it _had_ eased his mind. Hopefully, he’d managed to do something of the same for Isabela this time.

Their rush to Hawke’s estate was slowed by piles of rubble, fires, and several terrified citizens stopping Hawke to beg to know what was happening. Azzan gave all of them his time, even with the clock ticking down against them. At the news of mage freedom, many covered their mouths or gasped or shuddered; each time, Azzan grimaced. Because, like Fenris, they let themselves forget with whom they spoke.

By the time they finally got to the door of Hawke’s – their – home, Azzan’s shoulders had dropped again. Fenris walked in, silent behind his lover, his mind scrabbling with what to do. It was Aegis who greeted them, trotting out from the main room to stand by Azzan’s side. Azzan bent down to pat the mabari’s head. “Have you kept watch over the place? Well done.”

“Master Hawke?”

Orana hurried through to the foyer, her hands clasped before her. “There’s been such a ruck… I-I mean, are you well? I hid your most precious items, just in case this house got looted.”

Hawke blinked. Clearly, he hadn’t even considered such a possibility. It took a moment for him to recover. “Thank you, Orana.” He moved to her. “There’s…” He sighed. “Fenris and I can’t stay here.”

“Are we leaving?” Orana asked. Her eyes widened. Her fingers clenched around each other.

“I am. Fenris…” Hawke breathed. “He’ll likely be coming with me. But that’s because it’s his choice. I want to make this clear to you, Orana, so please.” He touched her shoulder, just for an instant. “You are not a slave, or even just some servant. You are a part of this family. This is your home. Not your workplace. Your _home_. You need never leave it if you wish.”

Orana didn’t seem to know how to respond. Fenris touched the small of Hawke’s back as he moved around the two toward the main rooms. He would get their items sorted while Hawke spoke with Orana.

He hurried up to their room. Plenty of more frivolous articles existed, though the small chest holding Hawke’s few possessions from Lothering was missing; Orana had likely seen to that, along with anything else that Hawke cherished. His mother’s room likely held only half its original stock.

He grabbed a small pack and placed a few changes of clothes for Hawke and a couple of undergarments for himself. Food would be necessary for the first few days, so that they could gain as much ground as possible. Anything else was more comfort than necessity – blankets, pillows, comfortable clothing. Necessities only – a map, extra coppers, silver, and gold, a bit of each in case they wanted to go around towns anonymously (hence the changes of clothes for Hawke). Daggers for cutting meat and stabbing enemies in secret, especially for Hawke, who may need to hide his magic.

They would need potions, as many as the pack would fit. He hurried down the stairs.

“I could help,” Orana was saying. He saw her profile from the main room. Aegis had come in to the room. The mabari grabbed a couple of Sandal’s better runes. Fenris considered them for a moment before accepting them. Should the worst come to pass and they lose their weapons or armor, the runes would help strengthen their replacements. He scratched the mabari behind its ear.

“You could. I don’t doubt it. I know firsthand that you’ve been brought with others to help them on their journeys.” Fenris grimaced, remembering that himself. “But that’s not a reason for you to come with us. If you do, it would be because you _wanted_ to. You needn’t fear being left alone; both Varric and Aveline have promised to help you. You don’t need to fear we’ll forget about you; if… if things go well, we may be able to return.

“But the chance of that isn’t written in stone, Orana. We may be running for… for the rest of our lives. I don’t want that for anyone. I don’t want it for Fenris, and I don’t want it for you.”

Fenris stopped on his way to the kitchen and turned. He could only see Hawke’s shoulder and arm, but his voice… he hadn’t expected Fenris to be in the living room to hear him. Of course Hawke would hurt more for Fenris being on the run than for himself.

He grimaced and hurried to the kitchen. The sooner he got their things, the sooner they could head out. Once they were away from Kirkwall, they were going to start a very, very long conversation. About many things.

Only a few foods would keep longer than a day or two; he took them all, wrapping them in napkins, handtowels, whatever worked. A couple of apples, a couple of muffins, and a small piece of cheese would be their food for the night. The rest – jerky, dried fruits, seeds, bread – would supplement their hunts as they continued their run. Anything else would have to be bought or earned in later villages.

At least this time, he thought ruefully, there would be money to pay for such things, instead of him having to sell his body. And he wouldn’t be alone. This time, he and Hawke would be running together.

It would be different. Even this – having time to pack, to plan, even if it was only minutes – was so very different from last time.

He grabbed up the pack, heaved it easily onto his back, and moved back to the front rooms. He could no longer hear Hawke speaking with Orana; the discussion must have ended. Hopefully, she would have understood why Hawke was trying to convince her to stay behind. They would be on the run while Kirkwall recovered, certainly, but there was far more than that to consider. Hawke had just freed the mages in this city. Others would see and likely demand to be freed, as well. There would be rebellions across Thedas. Undoubtedly, several would be triumphant. Those who gained their freedom would go to help the rebellions elsewhere. There would be a full-scale breakdown of Circles, and Chantries, and the law itself. Anarchy. War. Such changes would not come peacefully, or quickly. Very likely, the battle for mage freedom – Fenris still couldn’t help shuddering at the thought – would take decades. It may very well come in the next few years, but more likely, he and Hawke would not see it, even if they lived to be one hundred.

Hawke was right. They would likely be hunted for the rest of their lives.

The idea wasn’t as unappealing as he would have expected. All his life, he’d had no home. Even the few flashes of memories he held told him he’d been a child of a magister’s home; the magister’s home had been his workplace as well as his place of rest. When he’d grown and become Danarius’ pet, he’d lived the same. His ‘freedom’ had been a life on the run.

It had taken him a long time to accept, but he knew now that his home was with Hawke. A person, not a place. _Roots_ existed because of those one wished to surround oneself with. With Hawke uprooted, he would have no home here.

That was why the others would drift from this place, as well. Hawke was their home, not Kirkwall.

But he would do everything he could to ensure they returned. This place… this place held good memories. Something he’d never thought he would have, let alone acquaint with a building. Whatever happened in the world, they would find their way back. They would sleep together on that bed once more.

He hurried into the main room, only to stop. The air crackled with something. Immediately, he turned to Hawke.

Someone stood in the doorway.

A chill raced down his spine. He stepped forward. Aegis stood stock still in the entrance to the lobby, growling low in his throat but not making any movement.

Trapped.

He looked up again, his gaze catching on the face of the man in the doorway. Tall. Dark-skinned. A horribly wide, happy grin. The man raised his hand and touched Azzan’s stubbled jaw.

Alain.

**Author's Note:**

> Only one part left! Thank you so much for sticking with me these past two years. You guys are the reason this story's reaching its conclusion! ❤❤


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